


Don't Come to Paris

by hyperion



Series: Paris [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Sex Toys, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperion/pseuds/hyperion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Arthur wanted was to have uninterrupted sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Come to Paris

**Author's Note:**

> From <http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/18462.html?thread=41600542#t42112798>
> 
> Whilst getting fucked by Eames, Arthur's phone rings. Sick of being cock-blocked, he answers with:
> 
> "This is Arthur, a filthy, little cockslut, with a very bad man between his thighs..."
> 
> And then...
> 
> "Dad... Hi."

For the past two weeks, any time Arthur and Eames were alone together long enough to have sex, they were always interrupted by a phone call. Here are two selections to illustrate this point:

Tuesday, Eames was lying on his back, basking in the sight, sounds, and feel of Arthur grinding down onto his dick when Arthur’s cell gave forth an alarming squawk. Arthur never turned off his cell phone, because there was always a chance that Cobb was in danger or would call to warn Arthur that several masked men with automatic weapons would arrive at his building any second now (it had happened before). So Arthur paused on top of Eames and grabbed his phone off the nightstand and barked, “What?”

Eames paid no attention to Arthur’s conversation and instead grabbed Arthur’s hips and began thrusting up into him. Arthur let this go on for a few minutes while he desperately tried not to give any indication that he was being fucked, until finally he said, “Okay, okay. I’m coming,” while slapping Eames’ hands away and leaving him to go put on clothes. Eames would like to point out that, “I’m coming,” was a _lie_.

Sunday, Arthur was on his knees, face pressed to the mattress, enjoying the very thorough pounding he was receiving, when his phone rang again. Arthur fumbled with his phone and growled an unpleasant greeting into it. Though this is the second illustrative anecdote, this was the fourth time they had been interrupted in ten days, and Eames was prepared to plow on through. He paid no attention at all to the conversation, but a key phrase made it through to his sex-addled brain: “Be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen bloody minutes!” Eames cried. They had barely started when the phone rang.

Arthur frowned at Eames over his shoulder. “Make it ten.”

Eames was sure that Arthur enjoyed making him miserable more than he enjoyed sex, until Arthur declared to everyone at the close of the business day, “Eames and I will be spending the next twenty four hours have lots of crazy sex. The craziest of sex. And if anyone interrupts us when no one is in danger of dying, I will shoot you in the balls.”

So Eames basked in the fact that for the next twenty four hours, he and Arthur would be having uninterrupted sex. Eames was at least self-aware enough to realize that he could still piss Arthur off and that would be the end of sex for the next week too, so he was on his best behavior.

His best behavior found him buried in Arthur. They had spent half an hour on foreplay alone, and Eames could not remember when the two of them had had time for foreplay. Arthur, even with all his fastidiousness, could not remember either. Arthur had made sure Eames got off right at the start so that the two of them could enjoy a long, relaxing fuck. Arthur had one leg over Eames’ shoulder and the other caught in the crook of Eames’ elbow, and they were both so content that it took a few rings for the ringing phone to register.

“This Arthur, a filthy, little cockslut, with a very bad man between his thighs.”

Eames enjoyed being called “a very bad man” so much that he gave Arthur a quick, sharp thrust, getting a hitching little moan followed by, “Dad…Hi.”

Each had one second to make a decision. Arthur could hang up on his dad and try to pretend that it never happened, and he might be able to talk his dad into thinking that he imagined this all later; or he could stop and deal with this now. Eames could either be respectful of this delicate situation and pull out, or he could amuse himself.

“Does my filthy, little cockslut have an unexplored daddy kink?” he said loud enough for the man on the other end to hear. “Call me ‘daddy,’ pet. Say it again. Tell me what a bad man your daddy is.”

Arthur had his hand under Eames’ chin before Eames even saw it coming, and he used his grip to steer Eames off of him. “No, Dad, it was a joke. I am incredibly drunk and my dumb little friend dared me to say something inflammatory to the next person who called…No, I suppose I don’t sound drunk.”

“I could get him drunk if that would make this conversation easier,” Eames offered.

“No, Dad, don’t listen to him. I may not be drunk, but he definitely is.” There was a pause and Arthur sighed, “Yes, I am gay…Well, I thought the New Kids on the Block posters I had when I was a boy might have been a clue…Have I ever had a girlfriend in my life?...Ashley Blake doesn’t count…Because I was seven, Dad. We didn’t even hold hands.”

“Don’t believe him. He never holds my hand either,” Eames pouted.

“His name is Eames.” Arthur bolted upright a moment later. “No, Dad, you don’t have to come to Paris…I can take care of myself…He really isn’t that bad of a man…No, he’s not hurting me…I’m not just saying that because he’s right here…Honestly, I could take him in a fight.”

“I do spank him on occasion, however.”

“Only because I let you,” Arthur said. He had not covered the receiver on his phone, though, and had to deal with his father after that. “Yes, Dad, I let him spank me…Well, if you didn’t want to know, why did you ask?...Yes, sir, I know better than to speak to you like that.

“No, Dad, don’t come to Paris…No…please…Dad…Sir?...Fine. Love you too.”

When Arthur hung up, Eames laughed loudly at the expression on his face. “So, when is Father coming?”

Arthur was speechless for nearly thirty seconds, trying to decide whether to kill Eames or just let his father do it when he arrived. “The _general_ will be here tomorrow evening.”

“General?”

“General.”

“Oh. Back to fucking, then?”

It was not back to fucking. Arthur refused to have sex with Eames since he was very unhelpful with the phone conversation. Instead, Arthur chose a nicely-sized dildo from his collection and punished Eames by not inviting him to play. “You can touch me again,” Arthur said, pausing to moan as the dildo’s ribbing rubbed over his prostate, “if you can convince my father not to murder you.”


End file.
